


we like dancing and we look divine

by janie_tangerine



Series: the jaimebrienne spite countdown to season eight [9]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Dancing, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, No Plot/Plotless, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Spitefic, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 04:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18203654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: in which they show up to Tywin's birthday party in get-ups no one had expected.





	we like dancing and we look divine

**Author's Note:**

> WELCOME TO EPISODE NINE OF THE SPITEFIC MADNESS!
> 
> Now, this one has at least two generating forces. Number one is the usual wise anon of the century which went like this in the year of the lord 2015, WE'RE BACK TO OLD BUT GOLD:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I DON'T EVEN KNOW. (Sadly it's not the first instance of the whole virgin debate we'll have in the next month, but what can we do here.)
> 
> THAT SAID, tumblr user haljathefangirlcat at some point went like:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> I was like WELL FITS PERFECTLY WITH THAT PROMPT LET'S MERGE THEM.
> 
> So have some mindless crossdressing extra-indulging porn before we do two days of fairly heavy angst again (but I hopefully stop being mean to Jaime THAT MUCH and move onto being mean to his girlfriend instead ops, at least they're both having fun in thise one /o\\). Have fun and see you all tomorrow! ;)
> 
> Also: the title is from David Bowie, I own nothing and for science, [this is Jaime's get-up](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/c0/ac/bf/c0acbf07652d71e6f8f6d4613e94c0c2.jpg) and this is [Brienne's get up](https://images.mentalfloss.com/sites/default/files/styles/mf_image_3x2/public/high_primary.jpg?itok=1c9nLXUZ). I HAVE AN AESTHETIC GUYS SORRY NOT SORRY.

“ _This_ ,” Jaime proclaims five minutes after walking inside his father’s hall, “is the _best_ idea we ever had.”

“Yes, if he doesn’t have the both of us murdered before the evening is over,” Brienne whispers back, but at least she’s standing up straight _and_ whenever she looks at someone staring at them wrong with a small smile that she _doesn’t_ mean, which according to Jaime is entirely agreeable since he hates everyone in this damned room except for a specific choice of relatives.

Surely as hell his father has _not_ appreciated the way Jaime decided to creatively interpret his birthday party invitation that Was Not Up For Debate When It Came To Accepting It. Then again, if he doesn’t speak to him for months because he doesn’t appreciate his girlfriend or his career choices and then comes demanding that they attend his _vintage fifties_ themed birthday party without accepting no for an answer…

_Well._

Jaime is one hundred per cent sure that it was Cersei suggesting the theme because that is _not_ an aesthetic that would fit Brienne, should she choose to wear a dress.

Except that she probably hadn’t pictured that they _would_ circumvent the code.

He can see it in her eyes the moment she materializes in front of them, her eyes going so wide in something in between disgust and fascination as she stares.

“What the _hell_ ,” she says, “are you wearing?”

“Hello to you, too,” he smiles back at her, raising up his bright red skirt enough to show the black heels he’s wearing underneath. “ _This_ ,” he informs her as he keeps on grinning, his arm linked with Brienne’s, “is a replica of that lovely dress Marlene Dietrich had on in _Rancho Notorius_ that I have _specifically_ commissioned to the fashion student living next door. Hey, the _theme_ was fifties, right? It was from ’52. It fits the theme, right?”

“It _fits the theme_ ,” Cersei replies, blankly.

“If you were wondering about _her_ , we also commissioned it. Theon was overjoyed to make that much money in one go. That’s how Gary Cooper was dressed in _High Noon_. That’s from ’52, too, but since you were never into old movies, I guess you missed the reference.”

Brienne, who definitely looks _way_ better in trousers, vest, tie, white shirt and leather holsters (devoid of guns, of course) than she’d have looked in the dress, says nothing but squeezes his arm slightly tighter.

“You know this is ridiculous, don’t you?” Cersei hisses. Her green gown looks gorgeous on her, but the time when Jaime would have noticed it is long gone, and he just _really_ wants to crack up in laughter looking at how she can’t seem to compute that they actually went and showed up like _this_.

“I don’t know,” Jaime says, “I quite like it. I mean, it’s fairly comfortable. And Brienne seems to think it looks amazing on me, don’t you?”

“Oh, _that_ goes without saying,” she says, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards. “Surely better than it would on me.”

“And for once I’m taller than you are,” he goes on. “How _charming_.”

“As soon as you take off those shoes you won’t be,” she quips back, and when he looks at Cersei again, she has just… drained her entire wine glass?

Wow. She must have taken it really badly. Jaime half-twirls around her just to show off the skirt — it’s slightly shorter in front, bright red with black embroidering, with an underskirt in soft, red taffeta that is extremely comfortable _and_ most definitely hides that he’s _not_ wearing underwear underneath it, and fine, maybe he put a corset underneath just so it would slightly narrow his hips and would look better with the knitted net shawl he has over his shoulders. Damn, he _really_ likes the effect. He’s also not regretting having worn the same make-up — bless Brienne’s friend Sansa and her make-up skills.

“Why,” he asks, trying to sound as innocent as it goes, “you don’t like it?”

“It’s — do you think it’s _funny_?” Cersei quips back.

“Not at all,” he grins. “I absolutely don’t. I picked it in uttermost seriousness.”

He was about to tease her further, but then some slow music starts and he can see people going to dance, and so he looks at Brienne before kicking away the shoes and going back to his usual height — if he has to dance, heels are a bit above his paycheck. “So,” he says, batting his eyelashes in the most coquettish way he can think of, “you think you’ll bring me to dance? I haven’t come up with this entire get up for you to _not_ show me off.”

At _that_ , Brienne looks down at him and grins back, utterly ignoring Cersei who has about choked on her next drink. “For this one time, _gladly_ ,” she says, moving back and holding out a hand. He slips his own inside hers.

“Great,” he says, “see you later!”

Then he lets her drag him in the middle of everyone else.

The entire hall is, of course, dressed in regular suits and gowns and so on. The one moment Jaime catches his father’s stare, he looks _entirely_ pissed off.

Good, because honestly he’s _kind_ of hoping that this stint means they never get invited to the manor again. He doesn’t even try to _not_ let Brienne lead, she dances better when it’s the case anyway, and whenever anyone looks their way, he smiles back in satisfaction as if this is the best moment of his month, which honestly, it just _might be_ at this point.

A song goes by, another starts, she keeps on twirling him around the floor and he keeps his hand back on Brienne’s hip, just above the holster. Fuck, she _really_ cleans up well in this get-up.

“Damn,” he says, “we need to do this more often.”

“Possibly _not_ in front of your relatives and your father’s investors,” she mutters, nodding at one of the aforementioned investors who is staring at the two of them as if he can’t quite compute what they’re doing here. “But I guess we should waste all the money we spent on these clothes, huh?”

“That’s the spirit,” he says, “and I would like to remind you that we haven’t carried out the entire plan.”

She raises an eyebrow, letting him spin on himself before dragging him back towards her. “You haven’t changed your mind?”

“I brought the bag for one reason,” he winks, nodding towards the purse he has hanging on his elbow. “Also,” he whispers, “I got ready before we left home.”

Brienne’s face turns slightly redder as she glances at the purse. “Well.” One of her hands moves slightly below the small of his back, squeezing just a bit. “I suppose that _you_ would know the best place to… carry out part two of your plan?”

“See,” he grins back, “ _this_ is why I like how you think.”

“Then you can bring me there when this song is done, how about that?”

“Can’t wait,” he answers, and he _honestly_ can’t.

But he’ll finish this dance, first.

— —

“You’re telling me,” Brienne whispers as he stops and leans against the wall, “that the best place to do this is the _staircase landing_?”

“You of poor faith,” he says, leaning against the wall, letting his shoes drop to the floor and raising up the skirt, showing off his leg, “we are _just_ above the dining hall. Okay, there’s one floor in between us and them, but the acoustics are good enough that they could suspect but not _know_ for sure, and unless someone comes up the stairs they’ll never catch us. And believe me, no maid ever comes up here, and if we went in the attic no one would hear us. So,” he winks, raising the skirt just higher and handing her the purse, “you’re going to finish what I started?”

She takes it, opening it — not that she doesn’t perfectly know what’s inside it. She smiles slightly as she takes out the small bottle of lube. “Good thing your sister didn’t even look at _me_ ,” she says, and then she moves closer, opening up her trousers and pushing them down enough to uncover the black strap-on she’s had on since they left home. She picked a medium-sized one, which he did _not_ object to because there was no way they’d manage this with a larger type, and if he looks at the leather strips tying it to her hips makes his own dick harder than it already is, and that dancing under both his sister’s and father’s eyes _definitely_ turned him on.

A _hell_ of a whole fucking lot.

“You already —” She asks, her left hand going to his ass. He groans, moving his hand around her thigh.

“ _Yes_ ,” he says, “but if you want to see for yourself first, I’m not stopping you.” Then he winks at her, and a moment later she shakes his head, pours some lube on her fingers, slams the lube on the nearby small table and grabs him under the legs, lifting him up as his legs immediately wrap behind her legs, and then her fingers are touching the rim of his ass, prodding in, the tips sliding in —

“For —” She starts as she _feels_ that he stretched himself open with _enough_ lube before they left home and he’s still plenty ready to go, “you _really —_ ”

“I never lie about _important_ things,” Jaime winks, his hands going around her shoulders, hanging on to her. “So, you’re going to fuck me already or what?”

“ _Gladly_ ,” she groans, and then she moves back, grabs the lube again, coats the black dildo hanging to her crotch with it, and then she moves back, her hands going under his thighs again so she can find the better angle and _slide in_ —

Fuck, _fuck_ , fuck, the moment she pushes in and buries herself inside him, sliding in fairly smoothly since he _did_ lube himself up and she did the same before, he has to force himself to _not_ scream out loud before they get found when the fun hasn’t even started. He latches on to the vest on her shoulders, and damn if he doesn’t like how they’re wider than his own _especially_ in these circumstances — her hands hold his thighs _very_ firmly as she pushes him up against the wall.

He crosses his legs behind her back, just over the holster, his skirt all around them and his cock pressing against her flat, naked stomach, his hips meeting every single thrust of hers.

“Oh,” he moans as she leans back and thrusts again, and _again_ , “ _oh_ , shit, why haven’t we done this more often?”

“Well,” she breathes, her arms still holding him up against the wall, his chest trapped in between the bricks and her own and _damn_ but he doesn’t want to get out of that hold at _all_ , “I think I could be persuaded.”

“What,” he laughs, “you like how this looks on me?”

He raises a leg, lowers it, his ankle caressing her hip. “What if I do?” She smiles, her mouth leaning down to meet his as she keeps on thrusting, and when she finally finds the right spot he moans into her mouth once, twice, _thrice_ —

“Well,” he moans back, “you’re not — that bad yourself.” He rubs his nose against her cheek just as she leans down and sucks a hickey on his neck, then another, then _another_ —

“I’m not?” She sounds like she’s having fun here. _Good_.

“Shit, just the fact that you can — do _this_ ,” he says, entirely aware that there’s no way he’s not leaking precome all over her shirt, but he can’t care less, not when she’s driving him crazy picking up her pace and she’s still holding him up with so little effort, “it’s — fuck, you’re a marvel, I hope you _know_ that —”

“Be glad not many people are in line to have a taste of it,” she says as she thrusts in deeper, and _damn_ if at that point he doesn’t moan loud enough that someone definitely might hear him, but he can’t give a single fuck.

“Then they have horrible taste,” he manages to say, “too bad _other people_ don’t know how good you are at this or they’d fight me for a round, but better for me. I like you all to myself.”

“Guess what,” she says, _almost_ shyly, barely audible, her tie half-opened, her shirt obviously getting soaked with sweat under the vest, “me, too.” Then she moves back and buries herself inside him, moving a hand from his side and to his dick, her rough fingers wrapping around it and giving it fast, _hard_ strokes, and a moment later he’s spilling all over her hand as she holds him close and still holds him up with just _one_ arm and fuck, _fuck_ , it’s so good he thinks he might pass out here as his entire body shivers and shakes in pleasure, and he knows that she’s most likely in the same conundrum because she’s making all the right noises and her mouth is tightened the same way it usually is when she’s coming above him most of the times, and when he touches her arms she can feel that her shirt is soaked in sweat but _who gives a single fuck_ , especially since it makes the muscles in her arms stand out.

He grasps at them, saying _yesyesyes_ over and over, the taffeta around his legs feeling suddenly even softer over his legs, and when she moves back slightly, enough that she can pull out and his feet can drop on the ground, he keeps his arms on her hips. Hers smooth down the skirt instead, letting it fall back over his spent dick, and she looks absolutely disheveled as she undoes the strap-on and drops it inside his purse. She cleans herself off with a few tissues while he catches his breath, and when she zips her pants up and tries to straighten down her clothes… well, if she wasn’t covered in sweat, they _could_ try to go back downstairs. Except that —

“Your make-up is completely smudged,” she smiles, looking fairly damn satisfied with herself.

“Your shirt is plastered to your arms,” he grins back with just as much satisfaction as her arms circle his back again, the skirt falling all over his legs again.

“How terrible,” she laughs. “I think we should bolt.”

“Oh, they definitely heard us. I think we _really_ need to. But I want to do this again in the car.”

“You _really_ can’t wait until we get back home and use a bed like civilized people?”

“I _could_ ,” he says, “but why _should_ I, when your car is _that_ comfortable and you can totally ride me on the passenger seat?” He considers it. “Or I could ride you. I suppose that’s doable, we _do_ have enough lube. Save a horse and ride a sheriff and so on?”

She bursts out laughing, her hand going to the back of his neck.

“Your case is convincing.” She’s half-laughing, but she also is absolutely _meaning_ it. “Do we jump from the first available window or do we leave from the front door?”

He bursts out laughing, burying his head against her shoulder.

Good to know she’s down with it.

— —

Ten minutes later, they _do_ run out of the front door, without even trying to hide their disheveled state, and he’s fairly sure Cersei shouted _something_ behind them, but he can’t care less.

Thirty minutes later, he’s on the backseat of her car with her head buried under his skirt and in between his legs, her hair barely visible, and they’re _totally_ not leaving until they fuck on the passenger’s seat, too —

But for now he only knows that he’s _absolutely_ going to keep the dress. And wear it again.

Very, very soon.

 

 

End.


End file.
